


Adventures of the K. C. Steamer

by Mafief



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: 1901, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Gen, Historical References, steamer ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 17:37:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11295483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mafief/pseuds/Mafief
Summary: In 1901, Holmes and Watson are returning from a case on a steamer ship and become entangled in solving a murder.





	Adventures of the K. C. Steamer

As I was packing away my case notes in a battered tin dispatch-box1, I came across one of my note-books for the year 1901. Holmes was finishing a very busy time period where he experienced many successes and a few regrettable failures. That year included the grotesque affair at Holderness Hall, Lucas the Lamp Lighter of dubious morals, and the curious instance of the anticlockwise turning carousel. While the cases described are certainly interesting in their own merit, I wish to focus on one that took us away from England. In time, I hope to be able to describe that reason for our journey and the extraordinary observations from my friend of the missing ivory pen that lead to the solving of that case, but that is not the only singular interesting affair of our assignment. 

I was looking forward to the ship ride and coming home from our assignment abroad. I had not been on a ship for a lengthy period since I was dispatched from India to England on the troopship “Orontes”2 and, despite the circumstances, did enjoy the voyage. Holmes was less enthusiastic being that the boat travel did not agree with him nor the inactivity of being in between cases. For most of the trip he took to our quarters below deck to wade out his disagreeable gut. Occasionally, he would venture out on the promenade deck and amuse me with his deductions of our fellow passengers. 

I was entertaining myself on the promenade deck and stood near the bow to watch a sea bird drift near our craft. Other passengers were engaging in idle chatter, walking about deck of the promenade, idling in lounge chairs, or clinging to the white railing to marvel at the horizon. I was basking in the warmth of the sun’s rays attempting to drive the chill from the salty air when a young lady approached the same railing. Her slight frame was draped in a fashionable cream dress that was covered in a grey tweed pea coat to keep warm against the chill. A cream Breton hat adored her head and attempted to contain her brown curls. As she stood there, her intelligent brown eyes scanned knowingly over the water as her slightly tanned face wrinkled as if she was solving a complex problem. A sudden strong gust of wind caught her unaware and her hat was sent flying in my direction. Out of instinct, I snatched the escaping article before being lost out at sea. 

"Thank goodness you were there!" She exclaimed as she approached me with a relieved expression. "It wouldn't be the first time I've lost my hat overboard."

After returning the captured wayward article to its rightful owner I said "here you are. Miss?"

"Mrs. Clara Ellen Neale - Whitlock" 

"Dr. John Watson, pleasure to make your acquaintance. " 

At the mention of my name her expression changed from relief to awe. After confirming that I was Holmes’ biographer, she added "I have read your stories about the consulting detective in The Strand! I particularly liked The Musgrave Ritual and wished to hear the tale of the singular affair of the aluminum crutch."

I beamed over the attention to my published works and remembering my friend's account of his amazing feat of deduction in that case. "One day, as soon as I am able to, I will commit that story to print." 

"May I ask if you are traveling with Mr. Holmes?"

I nodded and turned my attention back to the bird. 

" _Procellaria puffinus_ " 

"I beg your pardon?" exclaimed I.

She stopped to survey my shocked expression, smiled, and continued in a confident, academic tone. "The bird you are admiring, it's a Manx shearwater. A marine bird that should be returning to its nesting grounds. My husband, Frederick Lawson Whitlock, and I are collectors. Our specialty is in Australian birds but I am familiar with British bird species as well. We have recently been ornithologising3 in Western Australia." 

Our conversation ventured into the habits of this marine bird and continued expounding to include the various bird species she expected to observe during her Australian adventure. I, being an admirer of nature, was enraptured at her expertise on the subject. 

"You and Mr. Holmes must meet my husband and the members of our Australian expedition. Would you come and join us for our evening meal? I am sure the ship’s crew will allow us to sit together."

I accepted the lady’s invitation eager to hear more about her adventures and made my way below deck to check on Holmes. Our ship was an iron-hulled steamer behemoth with three masts and two red smoke stacks that stood in contrast to the black hull. As I made my way below to the boiler deck in search of our cabin, I passed through the corridors lined with richly stained wood illuminated by overhead sconces. I was lost in thought remembering my lively conversation with the intelligent creature. As I arrived at our door, I stopped, not knowing what to expect. The voyage was an extended period of stagnation that never boded well for my friend who was prone to black moods. Entering, I steeled myself for the result of Holmes’ inactivity.

In our two-berth cabin, I found Holmes perched on the small chair with his knees drawn up to his chest encircled by his arms. The light from the port-hole window cast a blue glow to our cabin and the still, slim frame of my friend. His chair was surrounded by litter of newspapers and by the looks of them they were well read. I cautiously approached him and put my hand on his shoulder. 

“Ah, my dear Watson, I perceive that you’ve made another acquaintance aboard this vessel.”

I confirmed and made no mention of her description or her work, explaining that he would need to deduce those himself over dinner tonight. 

He acknowledged what I said and picked up one of the newspapers by his feet and waved it around. “When we return to London, I will be forced into endure further idleness as there is nothing intriguing in the criminal underworld at this moment.” He ended his declaration by handing me the paper he had previously been waving around. “Here Watson, what do you make of this.”

I scanned over the section of the newspaper he had indicated and noticed various sections circled and notes written in his familiar slanted scrawl. “Holmes, it appears as if you have been cataloguing.”

“Yes, I have been classifying these seemingly uninteresting crimes to determine how frequent crimes of passion can be attributed to in full or in part to jealousy or envy. In this insufficient sample of London crime, envy is more common, as you can see by the number I’ve catalogued, and likely due to it being between two people. Crimes where jealousy is the motive are much more grotesque.”

We continued discussing his findings from the paper until the topic had been thoroughly exhausted. Knowing his mood would not improve with him keeping to himself in our cabin, I suggested that he walk about the promenade with me. He made a show of being a long-suffering friend before following me out of our cabin. We spent the rest of the afternoon above deck enjoying each other’s company and Holmes amused himself by making deductions with the various passengers that we encountered. 

During the scheduled afternoon tea time, I caught sight of Mrs. Whitlock in the dining-saloon. She smiled faintly as she approached us. She was much changed from the bright inquisitive person I had previously encountered. Her hair, no longer covered by a hat, was in slight disarray while her distraught face indicated that she has recently been through some trying ordeal. Holmes, who had previously been in a lounging position, was now alert and a focused intensity shown in his eyes. His busy mind immediately assimilating the data and making deductions about the reason for the lady’s distress. 

“Mrs. Whitlock, this is my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes.” Said I. 

With a mannerism showing great restraint at her unhappy situation, her voice waivered when she greeted us. “Hello gentlemen. I am sorry but I must cancel our engagement for tonight. Our little expedition has experienced a recent tragedy and any future dinners are canceled indefinitely.”

“If you are able, pray tell us what is troubling you so I may see if I can be of some assistance.” My friend said as he offered a seat to the distressed lady and proceeded to calming her nerves with his easy, soothing tones. His customary coldness with the fairer sex was not present and he looked on the lady with keen interest and warmth. As evidence to his restless state due to his intense lack of activity, he proceeded to attack this case with all of his intense focused. 

“I’m not sure at what capacity you are able to help. My husband is being confined because he has been accused with the murder of Charles French who, God rest his soul, was one of the members of our expedition.” 

“But I sense that is not all that is bothering you.”

Mrs. Whitlock paused, recovered her composure and sighed “No, no that is not all. The entire event does not make sense to me. My husband has no reason, that I am aware of, to poison him.”

“If you would, take a moment to order your thoughts and start from the beginning.” Holmes sat back on his chair, closed his eyes, and touched his steepled hands under his chin. 

“About a year ago, our expedition left London for Australia. Our financer was keen on studying the natural history of Australia and insisted that the group include members that could study the flora and fauna. The financer appointed Dale Porter, a big game hunter, as the leader. My husband, Frederick Whitlock, was the ornithologist. The two other members, a botanist named Joseph Maiden and Charles French, who was primarily an entomologist, joined after Porter advertised for the position. Maiden and French worked together on previous expeditions and were familiar with each other’s work.”

At this, my friend opened his eyes. “You left out your contribution to the expedition. You are also a bird collector with similar level of knowledge as your husband. Your clothes have a faint odor of moth balls and bitter almonds, and these distinct aromas come from the arsenic soap4 used to preserve bird skins. Your finger tips are slightly splayed, which indicates the high degree of typing that you perform. Thus, in addition to your own scientific studies, you type your husband’s monographs.”

The lady, looking down at her lap, murmered “Yes. Yes, that is all true. The financer only wanted to pay for one ornithologist thus I volunteered as an aid to my husband’s work.”

Holmes, apparently satisfied with that answer, asked “Who is your benefactor?”

“Joseph Fisher and he is an altruistic fellow. He earned his fortune from the gold mines in Australia and wanted to use some of his fortune, as a gesture of good will, to benefit the country that was the source of his wealth.”

“Did he make any other requests of your expedition?”

“Yes. He specifically wanted us to collect samples and, whenever possible, bring back live specimens. To fulfill that part of the arrangement, we mostly focused on collecting seeds and insects. We spent most of our time outside of Sydney in the Blue Mountains.”

“Mrs. Whitlock, you have been most helpful. Do you think it would be possible to talk to Porter and Maiden?”

“Certainly, they are both seated at the table over in the corner. Porter is the one with the cigar and tries to smoke one as often as possible.” She pointed out two men dressed as gentlemen. The large man, Porter, was enjoying a cigar could best be described as boxy. His broad chest matched his square face and jaw adorned with a trimmed beard that further enhanced the square appearance. His companion, Maiden, sat across the table he was a small, slim man who was huddled over the table with a slightly hunched back. His large, dark eyes were fixed on his drink as he absent-mindedly toyed with the glass with his long fingers. The small man was startled from his reverie by a loud bark of laughter from the boxy man. 

Holmes turned to Mrs. Whitlock "After you introduce us, excuse yourself with the reason of a headache. Watson and I will need to talk to them alone."

We approach the table and the larger man was having the most jovial conversation with his unwilling companion. He turned and acknowledged Mrs. Whitlock with a wave and offered a sympathetic smile. "Mrs. Whitlock! I was recounting that time when French scrambled up that tree after that beetle. The fool almost fell and broke his leg. He sure shot into the brown on that one5. Where were we, Maiden? Oh yes, in Kurrajong near where they finished that new road.” Porter explained, satisfied with his memory of the events as he puffed on his cigar. 

"Porter, you must forgive me, I am not myself tonight I've had a most trying day. I will be retiring shortly due to a headache. May I introduce my friends Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. They have been interested in stories about our time in Australia and you are a most adequate and enthusiastic story teller."

Mrs. Whitlock left us as Porter offered us cigars and was eagerly regaling us with tales of their recent Australia adventure. He told of grand stories of the traps he laid to capture goannas, hiking through the trails to observe koalas, and fauna they encountered near a waterfall. Holmes discretely inquired about the party and the working relationships between the expedition members. Throughout his recounts Porter tried, without much success, to bring in Maiden to the conversation. After our cigars and multiple whiskey and waters, Maiden excused himself for the evening. We were about to turn in for the evening when Porter stated "You must forgive Maiden, he gets this way when traveling. He'll be right as rain once we get to port tomorrow evening."

"Do you know why he reacts to travel in this way? " Holmes inquired.

"Son use to travel with him but the poor bloke passed away during one of his travels. Such a pity. Thankfully we will be off this wretched vessel in less than two days time. Goodnight gentleman."

With that, we retired to our room. After dressing for the night, I settled into the bottom bunk. Holmes, instead of making his way to the top bunk, settled himself in the chair. 

"Holmes, what do you make of all this?" Asked I knowing fully well that he was not likely to express his opinions of the case. 

"I know that Porter seems to be lying, but I haven't the foggiest idea why. I need more data to draw any further conclusions." And with that, he closed his eyes and his great brain mused over the points of the case. 

The next morning I arose to find Holmes gone. I was working through my morning toilet when Holmes arrived back. He was already dress in his meticulous style of a proper English gentleman with a clean-shaven face and his black hair slicked back. The detective’s demeanor was much changed from yesterday morning. The prospect of this case brought a burst of vitality to him and he was filled with typical energy when the mood struck him. He paced the room with nervous energy and a glitter in his gray eyes. 

"Good. My dear fellow, you are up. I have had the most productive morning. Thankfully we have had pleasant weather so far on our voyage, or I would not have had the fortune to meet the Chief Officer at the saloon and managed to procure two meetings. I would request your help on this matter if you would be so obliged."

"Of course, I am here to be used. What is your plan?"

"First, finish your morning toilet and after breakfast we have two meetings; one with the ship’s surgeon followed by interviewing Whitlock."

After breakfast, I found myself following Holmes below deck of the ship in search of the surgeon. Surgeon Piper could not have been more than five and thirty dressed in a black jacket and trouser. His shocking blonde hair was slicked back and his coffee coloured eyes peered at us with an unwelcoming gaze. His thin mouth was framed with a mustache and beard in the same blond. Evidently, Dr. Piper had already known about our arrival and prepared for our meeting by having the canvas bag opened with the body already laid out. Holmes immediately went to examine the body. Dr. Piper was stroking his beard and unhappily murmuring as he handed me the coroner’s report and made his preparations to leave the room. 

Holmes looked up from examining the body "Dr. Piper, why did declare that this particular death was a murder?"

Dr. Piper paused at the door and turned to address my friend’s question "He seems to have died by some sort of poison. There was vomiting, painful convulsions, loss of consciousness, and eventually heart failure. Also, we have eye witness of an argument between Whitlock and French. Surely it's as simple and straightforward as that."

Holmes echoed dryly, "Oh yes, simple and straightforward."

After Dr. Piper departed, Holmes quickly brought out his glass and returned to examining the body. "Watson, what do you make of the report?"

I began to thumb through the contents and stated. "Dr. Piper marks death after the first third bells6, so thirty past eleven at night, due to poisoning. When the crewman found him, he was covered in sweat and appeared to have vomited. There was a gash on the back of the poor fellow’s head that was bleeding profusely. He was convulsing on the floor as if in several agony and gasping for breath. He slipped into unconsciousness and died shortly after. There is no mention of anything else in the report. Have you seen anything else?"

"A few trifles. Our deceased fellow appears to be left handed and had been married. Watson, take note of his left hand. There are two pairs of faint puncture wounds on the outside of his hand."

I examined the area and ejaculated "That resembles a bite from a spider. How did you know to look there?"

"I anticipated it. We must make a visit to Mrs. Whitlock before we see her husband."

With his examination complete, we departed and inquired after Mrs. Whitlock. We found her in her cabin, which was in a similar style to our own. Upon entering, she stood and offered us a place to sit. 

“Mrs. Whitlock, do you have a list of all the live creatures you have brought onboard? Oh good. Specifically, I would like the list of spiders." Holmes asked. 

"That is easy. I have most of those memorized. We had to arrange special permission to visit the spiders in the cargo hold and feed them."

“In that case, would it be possible to visit the spiders so you can tell us which ones are missing?”

“Missing! I assure you none are missing as they are quite secure in their traveling containers. Yes, we must visit them at once, if that is convenient.” Mrs. Whitlock offered. 

“Capital, bring a torch with you. Also, may Watson accompany you down to the cargo hold? I have to attend to some other matters.”

As Mrs. Whitlock prepared herself to go down below, Holmes pulled me aside and whispered “Meet me back at the smoking room in an hour or so. I need you to be on your guard when searching downstairs. I fear there is a highly venomous spider lurking about based on the bites we observed on Mr. French’s hand. Watch out for Mrs. Whitlock and yourself when you are examining the shipping crates.” 

Not to derail too far away from my narrative, but Mrs. Whitlock and I had an uneventful trip to the cargo hold. She brought me to the large crate that held their spiders and we discovered, to Mrs. Whitlock’s shock, that several containers that housed Sydney funnel-web spiders had gone missing. She informed me that they were highly venomous and were collected for the spider expert Reverend Octavius Pickard-Cambridge7. After returning Mrs. Whitlock to her cabin, I found Holmes smoking a cigarette in the smoking room and told him the news. 

“Excellent, Watson! Did she have any further information about the habits of this spider?”

“Mrs. Whitlock mentioned that this species of spider is secretive, highly aggressive, and the bites can be fatal. That might explain the multiple bite wounds we observed on French’s left hand. The symptoms of bites from this spider are similar to those reported by Dr. Piper.” I stated.

Holmes agreed with my statement and, after consulting his pocket watch, his gaze fell back to me. "Now Watson, we have a little time before our meeting with the Mr. Whitlock. I can briefly describe to you the facts from my work this morning."

Holmes, leaned forward and rested his arms on the table before eagerly starting his account "As I mentioned, I fortuitously ran into the Chief Officer and ask permission to look into this matter of the French murder. He was not inclined, however upon hearing my name the junior second officer, who has read some of your overly romanticized accounts, convinced the Chief Officer to let me discuss my desire to investigate with the Captain. After gaining the Captain's trust and permission to investigate, I asked specifics on the French murdered and he said I would need to discuss this with the ships surgeon and so I procured a meeting. The interview with Whitlock required more persuading because the Captain is quite sure that Whitlock is the murderer, but he eventually conceded. 

“I then asked to be taken to where they found French’s body. I was then lead to the cargo hold by an abled body seamen and eventually was joined by the crew member who discovered the body. The cargo hold was warm, as a result of being situated near the fires in the belly of this beast, and dimly lit. The floor was slightly dusty, and contained stacks of wooden crates and trucks. You, no doubt, saw this when you went down with Mrs. Whitlock. Mrs. Whitlock' expedition has filled one section and, at the time I went down, one crate was broken into. The crewman that found French brought me to the spot where he found him lying on his side writhing in pain and gasping for breath. 

“The footmarks in the dust by the place where French died correlated with the crewmen's account. In addition, there were two sets of foot prints and a small pile of ash. One set of footprints belonged to whoever placed the spider and the other set belonged to someone who smoked Sun-ray cigars. Next, I went to examine the crate that had been opened. Using a torch, I illuminated the contents and found that it was filled with scientific equipment and personal effects. Inside there was a small wooden box whose lid had been removed and placed leftward of the box with the inside facing up. The contents were notebooks which were disarranged, and one was lying open, pages down, half inside the box on the right-hand side. All notebooks were labeled with C. French and the date. One of the notebooks had part of a page torn out. Throughout the box there were barely perceptible traces of fine, translucent threads that appeared to be an odd spider web. 

“There you have it Watson, I have completed most of the links in my chain. Next is to inquire with the unfortunate Mr. Whitlock so I can strengthen what I already suspect.” 

At the appointed time, we crossed the ship to the holding cell that Mr. Whitlock occupied. The grim room, which seemed no larger than a closet, was a drab grey, dimly lit, and sparsely furnished. Mr. Whitlock was laying on the only available berth with his ankles crossed and arms hugging his chest. I noted that his dark eyes were fixed on the ceiling and didn’t shift in acknowledgement when we entered. His unshaven face and oily deep brown hair accentuating his widows peak indicated that he has not been able to complete his ablutions since he was arrested the day before and the appearance of his shirtsleeves and trousers further supported that conclusion. 

“Mr. Whitlock, I presume?” said Holmes. 

Without moving, Mr. Whitlock replied in a scratchy, high tenor voice “Yes, that is I”. He coughed before continuing on “Who are you and what is your business here?”

“I am Sherlock Holmes and this is my associate Dr. Watson. I am here, on request of your wife, to investigate the murder which you have been accused.”

At this Mr. Whitlock sat up and stared at my friend. “My wife? She has told me of Dr. Watson’s writings but I didn’t think that they were describing a real person. Now be truthful man, my patience is rather worn thin and I cannot be bothered by any trickery. What is it you want of me?”

“Mr. Whitlock, I am here because you are wronged man and I am gathering my facts to put the correct villains in custody. I have but a few questions, am I right in that you had a disagreement with Mr. French?”

“Yes, that I did”

“Would you describe the series of events that led up to and the topic of this disagreement between you and French?”

Mr. Whitlock sighed and ran his hands through his hair before replying. “I had discovered that French stole something of importance, a priceless aborigine artifact, I believe. I went to confront French in the dining saloon. French denied knowing anything about it. I told him that he had no rights and should return it immediately once we arrived back home. French would have none of it and swore of his innocence and was beginning to get agitated. French had been drinking that night and was prone to bursts of anger even when not on the drink. I said insults, I now regret, and he retaliated in kind.”

“Mr. Whitlock, your wife mentioned that French and Maiden knew each other previously from other expeditions. Do you know often they worked together?” 

“French and Maiden, from what I understand, knew each other from university and worked with each other on most of their expeditions. Not to speak ill of a fellow man, but for our expedition I’m not sure why Maiden was hired. While he was completely competent in the field, he lacked multiple manuscripts which would increase his recognition with his peers. While he was knowledgeable, there were other better choices but French refused to work unless Maiden accompanied him.”

Holmes handed a small scrap of notebook paper folded in half to Whitlock. “This was taken from French, does this mean anything to you?”

Whitlock looked over the writing and said “I can confirm that the original writing, Tecoma baileyana, was in Maiden’s hand. Maiden would often write baileyana on various slips of paper but I had no clue as to their meaning. On this scrap, French appeared to scratch out baileyana and wrote frenchi. You might consider discussing the meaning of this with Maiden and hope that he will be more forthcoming with you.”

Holmes concluded his meeting with Mr. Whitlock by saying that he would call again as soon as his inquiries were concluded. 

“Now, Watson, we may call upon Maiden. I do not believe him to be a violent fellow, but keep on your guard.” 

“Holmes, why not Porter? Surely he might know something is this event.”

“Alas, he knows much of this event for he is a part of it. A testimony from the saloon bar tender during my inquiries this morning told me that French had a heated discussion with Maiden and Porter in the saloon that ended with French causing quite a ruckus.“ 

I followed Holmes through the ship again to Maiden’s cabin. After knocking on the door, Maiden appeared looking no better than he did the previous evening; he was still wide eyed and wrung his hands together with such fervor.

“Dr. Maiden, I believe we have a small matter to discuss. What do the words Tecoma baileyana mean to you?”

Maiden’s wide eyes grew impossibly wider at the statement from my friend and his actions grew still. 

Holmes continued “Let me tell you what happened and correct me if I go astray. It was Porter’s idea to hide the spider in the box. He often lay similar traps for the big game animals that he hunts, as Porter freely admitted to us last night. Porter went down with you to the cargo hold but you were the one that placed the spider. Now, Maiden, what would compel you to do that? You had worked with French before, but out of the two of you, French had more professional respect and was more successful.”

At that, Maiden bristled and protested loudly. “He wouldn’t have been if not for me, he often took credit for my ideas and findings.”

“Why would you stand for thievery?” Asked I. 

Maiden’s sudden surge of emotion gave way to an ashamed expression, “I was not completely aware of the extent he had stolen from me until recently. I thought he was helping me after our expeditions together. He was a dear friend who helped me through the death of my wife, Bailey-Ann.” 

At the mention of his wife’s name, Maidens features were wistful. “My Bailey-Ann was the sunrise and sunset, a true treasure. She was more than any man deserved in a wife; smart, beautiful, funny, and endlessly kind and giving. Her striking blue eyes had the power to take your breath away with a single glance. I have been on a single-minded quest waiting to find a new plant to immortalize her name and spirit. I found a vine with a bountiful number of cream colored flowers on this expedition. I knew I had it. This vine reminded me of her spirit and I named it _Tecoma baileyana_ 8.”

Holmes unfolded the notebook paper we had previously shown Whitlock with Tecoma baileyana scrawled upon it “These papers were found on Frenches body, but baileyana was crossed out and frenchi was written above it.” 

“That fiend knew what this meant to me. He threatened to change it all because I kept a secret from him and, after it was revealed, I refused to let him take part in it. I needed the money, you see, to cover the medical bills from my wife’s illness.”

“One thing I am not clear on, how did you convince French to open the box that contained the spider?” Asked Holmes. 

“French had taken notes on the _Tecoma baileyana_. I asked him to retrieve those for me so I could cross reference them to make sure the vine was described correctly before agreeing to change the name to _Tecoma frenchi_. My plan was never to change the name but to give French a reason to go down to retrieve his notes.”

Holmes, after hearing a knock, opened the door to let in two burly seamen and the Chief Officer enter the room. Holmes addressed the Chief Officer. “The ones you want to arrest for murdering French, with a poisonous spider, are Maiden as well as Porter. Watson and I can give you specifics for this case before end this most interesting voyage.” 

Maiden and Porter were both arrested once we made port later that day and both were sentenced to a year of hard labor. After their sentence, Maiden retired to Australia and wrote multiple volumes on the plants of New South Wales while Porter focused his efforts in Africa.

**Author's Note:**

> The boat that I’m imagining, and was the inspiration for the title, is the SS Kildonan Castle. Other details were provided from other ships since I couldn’t get a good image of the cabins of the SS Kildonan Castle. 
> 
> Charles French, Joseph Maiden, and Frederick Whitlock were all practicing scientists in 1900 that specialized in Australian flora and fauna. The disciplines for each scientist (entymology, botany, and ornithology) are accurate. What I took the liberty to put them together in an expedition. It could have happened, based on the timeline. Frederick Whitlock was married to Clara Ellen Neale – Whitlock, but I have no evidence that she was also an ornithologist. 
> 
> 1) I’m referencing the tin dispatch-box in The Problem of Thor bridge  
> 2) name of the boat in STUD  
> 3) I found correspondence between Frederick Whitlock and another birder. This was the term that he used.  
> 4) Formula for arsenical soap “arsenic (320 g), carbonate of potash (120 g), distilled water (320 g), soap (320 g), lime (40 g) and camphor (10 g).”  
> 5) slang. To fail  
> 6) time keeping on a boat https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ship%27s_bell  
> 7) Real guy who was an expert on the Sydney funnel-web spider.  
> 8) A real plant that is native to north of Sydney, so in the area that the expedition took place. The real-life Joseph Maiden and another botanist, R. T. Baker, named this specie _Tecoma baileyana_ in 1927. The species was renamed _Pandorea baileyana_. I’ve made up the part that this plant is named after his wife. 
> 
>  
> 
> Special thanks to my spouse who beta’ed my work.


End file.
